


With the Flow

by merelyafigment, visionofblue (merelyafigment)



Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, PWP without Porn, because Ryan is quite distracted, but without clues as to how exactly that happened, contains no rain, contains so much objectifying of Miguel, the relationship is so very established
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:28:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29304228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merelyafigment/pseuds/merelyafigment, https://archiveofourown.org/users/merelyafigment/pseuds/visionofblue
Summary: Ryan O'Reily and Miguel Alvarez steal a brief moment together away from their work details, but something changes their plans a little. Luckily, they both adapt well. (It's basically a PWP, except it's just kissing.)
Relationships: Miguel Alvarez/Ryan O'Reily
Comments: 11
Kudos: 12





	With the Flow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [temis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/temis/gifts).



> **Author's Notes** :There was an ask meme thing with 50 kiss prompts, and nobody asked me for anything (I do not blame them) but a kissing in the rain one caught in my brain anyway. I probably could've figured out a way to put them in the rain, but I didn't. My mind went in a different direction. For [temis](/users/temis/) as a thanks for the kindness and support. (I give weird gifts, sorry.)

Ryan O'Reily heard Miguel Alvarez coming before he saw him. Jesus-- they were supposed to be stealing a moment away before Ryan delivered lunch, not drawing the Hacks right to them with --yeah, that was quite a string of Spanish expletives. Ryan might not know the entire language, but those phrases he definitely knew. 

The door to the large empty stairwell right outside the hospital ward swung open, and somehow even that managed to seem angry. 

That emphatic thump still brought a bit of a surprise for Ryan-- it was Miguel alright, that beautiful motherfucker's voice was distinctive-- 

\--he was just unexpectedly shirtless. 

Just soaking wet scrub pants plastered to his legs and highlighting quite a bit of what was underneath, exposed light bronze skin all slickly glistening like he'd been shooting a fucking porno in the rain or something. 

But Miguel was also really fucking irritated, dripping sodden scrub top clenched in his hand, shaking it and himself, rubbing his hand vigorously over short wet hair, sending out a fine mist. Swearing lowly, but with true passion the whole time. 

He looked up from glaring at his soaked shirt to glare at Ryan. Probably because Ryan was laughing at him, even as his tongue darted over suddenly dry lips. Sure, Miguel looked pissed, but he also looked hot. 

"What the fuck happened to you?" Ryan's laughter shook his words. 

"Pipe burst." Miguel sort of explained, completely bitter, with a last futile shake of his hopelessly drenched shirt. 

Ryan got a bit distracted again, by droplets rolling over smooth skin, shifting their tracks over lines carved in muscle, the sparse sprinklings of hair interrupting and changing their journeys in places.

He looked up when Miguel sighed, still sounding annoyed. "Glad you're fucking enjoying it, you perverted pendejo." 

Miguel sort of did sound pleased, though, underneath all the pissed off. 

"I really am." Ryan's smirk was unrepentant. Because seriously, of all the shit he should repent for -- this? Wasn't on that long fucking list. Still, all that grumbling meant maybe he couldn't enjoy it for long. "Would've been nicer if you remembered how to slip away fucking _quietly_. Are the Hacks right behind you?" 

Miguel snorted in amusement which still ably carried his bitterness, unfazed by Ryan's mild judgmental tone. (It was pretty fucking mild -- he was pretty fucking distracted.) "They're busy, baby. You want to bang right here against a fucking window? This is probably the one time we could pull that shit off." 

Miguel was joking, and Ryan knew that, but he pushed off the metal grate covering the window he'd been leaning against to stride closer to Miguel. "Well, that's certainly a plan." 

Ryan caught Miguel's rough chuckle in his mouth. Wet. Wet lips, wet mouth and darting tongue. Wet jaw as he drug his mouth along drenched skin. Didn't taste like rain, but water from the taps. 

He didn't really care at the moment. 

Wet hands, clenching and bunching his kitchen whites, probably making him wet too. 

Fuck it. 

He'd find a way to explain it. He pressed right up against all that skin, his hand finding soaked hair under his palm, curving around Miguel's skull to pull him closer. Miguel's mouth was his favorite -- tasted familiar, hot and needy. 

Ryan never got to feel him like this, he realized, walking forward as Miguel wordlessly moved with him, walking backward and backing against the door with a light thud. Nobody coming through it to surprise them now. 

They could never eyeball each other in the shower without being real fucking careful, let alone touch. He never got this -- wet skin sliding smooth under his other palm, feeling the shiver as he lightly bit and sucked Miguel's bottom lip. Curled his hand around that damp tremble, fingers digging in just firm enough, right above Miguel's hip, thumb tracing the sharply defined line there. 

A groan caught between Ryan's lips now, nothing like the earlier angry muttering. 

Both damp hands slipping under Ryan's shirt, firmly skimming up his sides. Miguel's touch was a little chilled, but he didn't even care. 

He might never get to feel Miguel like this again, soaked and panting against him. (Not for a while, anyway. One day... one day they'd get found out, because Ryan had no intentions of stopping. But for now this was as close as they could get to playing grab ass in the shower.) 

Couldn't actually fuck in the stairwell, though. 

Ryan broke the kiss, forehead resting on Miguel's. Damp now, too, as Ryan almost tried to feel it all, drag all that dampness off of Miguel onto himself. 

"Wait-- it wasn't a fucking toilet, was it?" Ryan was mostly joking. Miguel just smelled like himself, which Ryan could recognize now, and water. Closer than Ryan ever got to have him this way. Couldn't exactly hug and sniff him fresh out of the shower, either. 

"Little late to ask." 

Ryan swore he could feel Miguel's smirk, turned against his jaw with the lightest drag of teeth, as Miguel's hands held him steady, under his shirt, warmer now. 

Ryan shrugged, careful not to dislodge any part of Miguel pressed so close to him. "Was a little distracted." 

Ryan didn't do a lot of honesty in here, but he shared it with Miguel the most. 

He saw that smirk this time, but it was a grin now, and it had warmed up too, Miguel's previous irritation lost. "I noticed." 

Miguel bumped him, hip to hip, to punctuate the words into sounding like a tease. 

They weren't hard, though. Yet. Just warm, and close, and okay maybe his blood was sped up a bit, like his breath, and he was heading that way. But not yet. 

Just felt good. Here. Even getting damp and uncomfortable himself. He definitely wasn't moving away, though. 

"Hey, at least you're less fucking grumpy now." Ryan pointed out. 

Miguel made this little noise, a quiet thoughtful hum caught behind closed lips. Just watching Ryan, who was completely correct, by the way -- the noise, the look, Miguel seemed practically content. 

Maybe just for the moment. But moments were enough in here. Worth stealing, again and again, with the skin of Miguel's bare wet side warming up under one hand, the other still curved around the back of his head, idly stroking wet hair. Miguel's damp fingers echoed Ryan's movements, rubbing slow circles right above his hips. 

"Well, you're fucking distracting, too." Miguel's voice low now not with irritation, but fondness and humor. 

The window. That would've been nice, right up against the sun and tiny fractured view of outside. Well nice for one of them, anyway, since that mesh wasn't the comfiest shit to be pressed against. Couldn't, though. Had to block the door. Had to be positioned where Ryan could look to the side, and Miguel could scope behind him and down the stairs. Though Ryan had left his tray rack blocking another important door. Accidentally, of course. (Some things would be harder, once what was going on with them was discovered, but some, like this, would be easier. Ryan was prepared to make that trade.) 

But for now at least he had this. Wet skin under his hands, his tongue, for just that little stolen moment. 

They were such fucking thieves, the two of them. (Together.) 

Another tiny shiver followed his tongue tracing the strong arch of Miguel's collarbone. Hands slid over the dip of sensitive skin in the small of Ryan's back, still sneaking further up under his shirt, leaving their own trails. Causing their own shiver, leading him right back to Miguel's mouth, always. 

"Gotta stop." Worst fucking words Ryan had ever spoken, and some of the few he truly regretted. He pulled back, slowly, watching deep brown eyes soaking him in. 

"I know." One last little stroke of Miguel's devilish fingers, right there, dipping just under Ryan's loose waistband as they skimmed around his hips and slipped off Ryan's skin altogether. 

Felt the damp left behind. The chill. Miguel stayed slumped against the door, the bastard, forcing Ryan to be the one to step back. One last trailing touch over Miguel's torso, catching the traces of water. He could at least see more of Miguel again with the foot of distance between them. 

Still dripping wet. 

Still trying Ryan's last shred of control. 

Focus. "You never answered me--" Ryan gestured to Miguel's soaked state. What do you know? Miguel had dropped his shirt on the floor at some point, and there it stayed in a soggy heap. 

"Nah, no worries. Was just the sink I use for the sponge bath stuff." Miguel tucked his hands behind him as he leaned back. 

It looked casual, relaxed. But Ryan knew. Miguel wasn't doing that idle little stomach stroking thing he did when he _actually_ wasn't thinking-- he was tucking his hands. Away from Ryan, to hold on to his own control. 

But a couple of steps was all Ryan could manage. Would it be safer and less tempting to go back over by the window? Sure. But he wasn't fucking moving from where Miguel's gravelly words were close, and just for him, no matter how ordinary they were. Where he could see damp skin and clinging thin fabric right there. Better than Miss Sally's tiny screen or a worn magazine. Had to enjoy what you could get in here. 

"So you've got to go back to washing ugly assholes? Seriously, man, I've told you -- transfer to the kitchen with me." It was an argument they'd had before, but it didn't hold any heat in it now. Ryan had given up. Miguel was loco enough to like his detail, and well, yeah. Ryan didn't have a real leg to stand on -- having Miguel in the ward with all its weapons, pharmaceuticals, and information was useful. Ryan already had access to the kitchen perks, Miguel being there too would gain them nothing. 

Except Miguel being _there._ With him. 

And Ryan wasn't going to fucking beg. (He would. Eventually. He fucking knew it, even if Miguel didn't. But it wouldn't be for that.) 

"Yep. Part of the job." Miguel answered Ryan's first question easily, though he didn't sound excited about it or anything. (He didn't even bother addressing the work detail comment, stubbornly ignoring the suggestion like fucking always.) 

Miguel mostly kept his head down, did his job, and didn't complain about the ugly parts. He was like that when shit meant something to him. 

Ryan smirked, lazy and inviting, and he saw it-- the focus in Miguel's eyes, the tightness in his frame. Still half-naked, by the way, and Miguel might be pissed about it, but it was maybe the best part of Ryan's fucking day. 

The sun, it was on his skin, the water drying slowly and catching the light. Ryan seriously never got to see him this way, however weak the light was coming in the heavily caged windows. 

"Just think of me instead. Under your hands." Ryan said it with all his thoughts poured right into his voice, dragging it low, right into the gutter. 

Saw it again. Twitch of biceps, tightness shifting his tats. Miguel was probably clasping his hands pretty fucking tightly behind his back. 

Control. 

What a shitty time for them both to have it, but they did. Because they weren't just-- they'd just planned to meet up out here to talk, actually. To be alone and away for a minute. Hadn't planned the rest of it, since they usually did that more privately. 

Ryan could still feel Miguel on his skin. Like, literally, because of the dampness barely lingering on his body and his kitchen whites, everywhere they'd touched. 

Miguel let out another snort of bitter humor, though, head resting back against the door and arching just a little. Acting casual, but subtly showing off the line of his body anyway. 

Fucking tease. 

Fucking tease that Ryan lov-- 

"Ain't risking a fucking hard-on when I'm manhandling a biker, man." Miguel informed him with a smirk. "You? Will be the farthest fucking thing from my mind." 

Ryan let out his own low laugh. "Good point. Maybe don't do that." 

"Got to go." Miguel was steady, but there was a sigh lurking in his voice again. "They're gonna wonder why the fuck I was gone so long and my ass is still dripping instead of changing." 

Fucking pipe. It gave them less time. If Miguel was normal and _dry_ it would just look like he'd been off somewhere working. Harder to explain wandering around shirtless and dripping for ten fucking minutes. 

They should've had those ten minutes. 

On the other hand-- 

Ryan took in his-- Miguel one last time, as brown eyes continued to watch him with lazy confidence in return. 

Fuck it, they could take ten minutes tomorrow. Today, Ryan got the sun on damp skin. 

Thank the fucking pipe. 

He'd see Miguel again in five minutes, anyway. In the ward, while he was slinging trays. They'd get to talk, just nice and normal without the flirting and fucking around. 

Both. Ryan liked both, and he'd admitted that to himself some time ago. And he knew Miguel did, too, the way the light in his eyes and the easy tease in his voice carried between the two -- just them alone, or them shooting the shit in public where the tease had to shift to the way Miguel liked to play with everyone sometimes. But it was still there. More real. 

Plus, Miguel would probably be dry and have a fucking shirt on. 

Ryan cocked an eyebrow for one last tease. "Any chance you won't be able to find another shirt?" 

Got him another rough huff of laughter. " _You_ want to get a hard-on in front of a biker? Didn't think that was your kink, baby." 

Ryan laughed again, easy. It was easy now, here. With him. In a way not one damn other thing was. (That was fine, Ryan could work with that. He only needed the one thing.) 

"Not in the fucking least. Try the opposite." He screwed his face up in disgust, but he was still laughing with his eyes probably, because he was more amused than anything. Not really thinking of the fucks in the Ward. Only Miguel. (Who actually knew plenty of Ryan's little kinks and tweaks by now.)

"Yeah, man. I'm definitely going to find a shirt, got plenty of spare scrubs." Miguel pushed off the door, closer to leaving, but it also brought him closer to Ryan for a moment. "Besides, I'm getting fucking cold." 

Ryan's mouth was fast, but Miguel was faster, swooping in before Ryan could form a reply. Firm hand, barely damp now, wrapping around the back of his neck, pulling him into a last swift kiss. 

Not passion. 

(Well, not entirely.) 

Just one last bit of warmth, stolen. 

"Don't feel cold to me." Ryan murmured as Miguel's lips left his. 

"Will be once you're gone, Ryan." Easy and flirting, lighter than the grumpy cursing he'd stomped out there with. Miguel backed off just as quickly, though, finally scooping his shirt off the floor. 

"Wait a minute-- why didn't you just change before you came out here?" Ryan had maybe been distracted thinking of other things. Miguel occasionally had that affect on him. Thankfully it wasn't a dangerous type of distraction, because for one thing Miguel had his back now. And Miguel was stone cold serious with the things that meant something to him. 

They would've still had their ten minutes if Miguel had quickly slipped into dry scrubs. 

Miguel's grin was slower, dirtier, even as his hand was on the door signaling that he was leaving. "Knew you'd want to see, baby." 

Fuck, he was completely right. So right. 

Miguel was smart, after all, always had been. 

That wasn't the only reason Ryan wanted him, though. 

This. 

This was better. 

Miguel's cocky smirk shifting into a genuine grin, catching the dull sun just like all of his exposed skin was. 

"Who knew? You might be as good at going with the flow and planning shit on the fly as me." When Ryan let his own grin out, it felt just as warm. 

Miguel's quiet laughter ducked out the door with him, as Ryan stepped away to take another route. 

It was a good day. 

He could still feel Miguel. On his skin, and under it. 

And Ryan didn't want him gone from either place. 

***  
End

**Author's Note:**

>  **End Notes** : I actually did not entirely make up where I put them for once. (I do not know if there even _are_ private rooms in the hospital ward, but I act like there are all the time.) There actually is a stairwell/hall area Rebadow tries to escape out of in the early seasons, which I theorize is somewhere near the hospital ward (because that is where he is sneaking away from, still in his gown if I remember) which is apparently guarded by nobody. Seriously, an older gentlemen who is in poor health slowly makes his way there and is presumably only found because he collapses and almost dies. It is thus canonically a place that can be slipped away to unnoticed as far as I'm concerned. (Yes, I use it in my fic constantly now for that same reason.)


End file.
